When spoken word artist Brenna Twohy tells you that she is an unabashed devotee of all things “Potterotica” — erotic fiction based in the magical universe of Harry Potter — your response probably shouldn’t be that her taste is “unrealistic.” 

Watch her full monologue here. 

(Source: National Poetry Slam uploaded by Button Poetry)

1 week ago
22,594 notes









this is so fucked up

For the love of god

I’ve smoked only about 4 ciggs in my life and this already makin me wanna stop

It looks like someone is blowing air into a rotting plum


this needs to be seen by everyone

Haha kinda does look like a plum

Wow, it just goes to show ,that you too, can die with healthy lungs -if you give up NOW

(Source: dieselotherapy, via cvffiend)

1 month ago
267,299 notes

Take a leaf of paper and draw your mind
Your bourbon brown that can burn my eyes
I lost your presence underneath the bridge

Lock the door, let’s talk it out
Against the wall, hands on my mouth
Could this be it, is it really over now?

You wore a pink T-shirt and khaki pants
You played your songs and you danced your dance
I unwrapped your presents underneath your feet

Nine to eleven you’re getting weak
The tile is cold, I can barely speak
And I think she’s gone, but I’ll be sure for safety’s keeping

If you say no, then no it will be
I’ll stick it at our skin, pierced with colly strings
Just play it cool, yeah, and try to avoid being seen

I’ll stick it at our skin, pierced for nothing

Well, yeah, I saw inside the mirror your smoking gun
[Incomprehensible], the subscribing one by one
And I fell so fast in Sufat’s bedroom

You said, you saw it coming but you didn’t see nothing
Your eyes are on the living room, your eyes are on the closet
Don’t worry about, don’t worry about anything

A pity invitation to an awkward house
For pseudo-boy that would rather wear a blouse
I sincerely saw your skin for the very first time

My curly hair and a voting booth
Confessingly, this is the first time I’ve loved you
And God I mean, God I mean it, I hope that I mean it

'Cause like dying young, idols got the best of me
Well, don’t stop calling, you’re the reason I love losing sleep
And the building collapse, we’ll shop one, we’ll shop one for something

I’ll stick it at our skin, pierced for something
Besides, don’t release me until it’s over

Besides, you can’t believe without fear
Besides, you can’t believe without fear

1 month ago
0 notes

And I wish you’d say please don’t leave me,
But darling I am leaving.

1 month ago
0 notes

You want to find a way to keep living. Not that I have any idea—every year that passes I’m so much less certain about what’s going to happen when I’m dead.

I mean, I’ve spent so much of my life fearing that I would be trapped in some kind of mediocre, suburban fucking boring typical life. I’ve been so afraid of that, like, “God, that would be the worst thing.”

But then, on the other hand, you start thinking about there’s a fucking reason most people choose that. It’s kind of like, that’s almost the natural course. I mean, not the modern stuff—not the sub-divisions and the data-entry jobs—that stuff’s just poison. That shit’s just sad.

But the other part, the making a family and creating this thing that’s part of you, but is also gives meaning to your life and makes you selfless and makes you want to work, makes you dedicate your life to this cause that’s no longer your whims and your wants or whatever. It’s just the way it is. If there’s anything I dream about, it’s that. But then at the same time I’m fucking terrified of it. And if I ever was given the opportunity to have it, I’m sure I would squander it.

You can spend minutes, hours, days, weeks, or even months over-analyzing a situation; trying to put the pieces together, justifying what could’ve, would’ve happened… or you can just leave the pieces on the floor and move the fuck on.